


Broom Polish and Ink

by Anonymous



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, Awkward Romance, F/M, First Kiss, Flying, Moody Art Hoe Theo, Quidditch, Quidditch Player Ginny Weasley, Tagline, Tattoo Artist Theo Nott, Tattoos, Theo Is A Little Awkward
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-17 09:42:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29590884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: "Theo had discovered he quite liked the way she looked sprawled out beneath his hands on the black, leather table. Her hair flowed off the end, hanging only a few inches from the ground, her hands clasped against her chest, as if in prayer. He knew all too well the feeling of salvation that the burning of ink-drawn skin could bring."
Relationships: Theodore Nott/Ginny Weasley
Comments: 17
Kudos: 24
Collections: Tag(line) You're It! Competition





	Broom Polish and Ink

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [Tagline_Youre_It_Comp_2020](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Tagline_Youre_It_Comp_2020) collection. 



> **Apocalypse**
> 
> **Prompt:**  
>  "Take me to your teacher."(The Faculty)
> 
> **Apocalypse Trope:**  
>  Tattoo Parlour
> 
> **The Characters given to me by the Wheel of Death:**  
>  Ginny Weasley and Theodore Nott

The sharp intake of breath being sucked through clenched teeth caused Theo's hand to pause. The tip of his tattoo machine pulled away from the skin and he looked up at the grimaced face of Ginny Weasley, an eyebrow raised in question.

"I'm good, keep going."

Theo nodded and pulled the skin on her ribs taught with his hand, splaying gloved fingers over a slim waist to keep his canvas in place. His foot pressed the pedal beneath the table, urging the vibration in the gun to resume. The black ink bled into her skin, filling every pore with thin, precise lines that stood stark against her pale complexion.

He caught himself looking up at her face every few minutes.

There was something about the tattooing process that was therapeutic to most of his clients. And, whether it be nervousness or the fact that all modesty was out the window when his hands were on their skin, most people felt the need to fill the air with mindless chatter.

Ginny Weasley was not most people.

Her face took on a hardened expression—concentrated and determined. A fierce look, reminiscent of the expression she wore in the middle of a Quidditch match. Her mouth was set, lips pursed, and her brow drawn above sparkling brown eyes. She took long, deep breaths through her nose and Theo could count the seconds it took her to push the air out and draw it back in. A rhythmic one, two, three, four…

Her skin was hot beneath his hands, as skin often became during the process. Slightly puffy with blood raised to the surface, reddened beneath the constant scratching of needles on flesh. Every swipe against the area with a cool, wet cloth caused gooseflesh to pimple across the ridges of her ribs and he couldn't help but notice every freckle that stood out against the raised bumps.

He could count them, being this close to her.

This marked their seventh session in two years. And, in that time, Theo had discovered he quite liked the way she looked sprawled out beneath his hands on the black, leather table. Her hair flowed off the end, hanging only a few inches from the ground, her hands clasped against her chest, as if in prayer. He knew all too well the feeling of salvation that the burning of ink-drawn skin could bring.

"Do you fly?" Ginny's voice broke through the silence in a question he hadn't been expecting.

Theo cleared his throat and pulled his eyes away from her face—he'd been staring for too long. His hand began to drag the tip of the machine against her again as he spoke. "Not really, no."

She was quiet for a few minutes, as if chewing over the answer. "Why not?"

Theo fought the urge to shrug and tightened his hand against her waist. "I'm not very good on a broom."

"That's a shame," she said.

He wanted to scoff, to feel insulted, but when he looked up, he realized the set look on her face had softened. She looked thoughtful, if even a little sad, and her hands released to fiddle with the gold necklace that rested against the hollow of her throat.

"I never really learned," Theo confided.

Her head lifted from the pillow it was rested upon and she craned her neck to look at him. "Why not?"

He allowed himself the shrug this time. "My mum didn't fly and father thought there were more important things I could put my effort into."

"You don't have any siblings?"

He shook his head and stepped off the pedal to stop the buzzing of the machine. Having finished the outline, Theo turned to the table at his side and switched out the seven-point round liner tip to a fifteen-point flat shader. He dipped a clean cloth into the solution that sat in a bowl and wringed it out, turning back to Ginny.

"This will be cold," he mumbled, the warning slipping past his lips automatically. He heard her hiss as the potion soaked linen pressed against her skin and watched as the swollen flesh instantly cooled and sank into itself. "And no, it's just me."

"Can't imagine what that must be like," she whispered.

_Lonely_ , he thought. "Quiet," he said.

She chuckled and laid her head back down to the pillow, resuming her silence as his foot pressed the pedal once more, the machine quivering in his hand.

* * *

Theo began cleaning his station. He stripped his machine of the used needles, pitching them into a bin marked for unsanitary items and waved his wand to clean the table Ginny had been laying on. He crouched low, opening the bottom drawer of the chest that held his supplies and grimaced at the twinge in his back from being hunched over for several hours. His hands ached as he pulled his appointment book out, tattooed fingers cramped from holding the buzzing gun.

"Theo?"

Her voice startled him and he dropped the book, swearing under his breath as he picked it back up and turned around to face her. "Everything okay?"

Ginny had walked out to the front desk to pay fifteen minutes ago. He hadn't expected to see her again, at least not so soon. Ginny had come to him for every one of the seven tattoos she had, and he had assumed she'd be back eventually. But, she had never come back to the room after a session had finished. It was always the same. He tattooed her in near silence, she thanked him after looking in a mirror, said goodbye and walked to the front.

He wouldn't admit that every time he watched her walk away he wanted to say something, anything, to remain in her company a little longer. Instead, he ignored the tightness in his chest as her hips swayed out of vision, carrying her around the corner. Suppressing the urge to ask her to stay, linger in the shop after hours and maybe get a drink with him.

"Yeah, I'm fine." Ginny said, shifting her weight from foot to foot. "I wondered if you'd want to come flying with me?"

Theo felt his brows pull together and his hand moved to the back of his neck. "I'm not any good."

"I know," her mouth lifted in a slight smile, her eyes brightening. "I could teach you, though. If you wanted."

It had never bothered him that he didn't know how to fly. Certainly, when he was at Hogwarts, he had been teased occasionally for his ineptitude. The mocking stopped fairly quickly when the other Slytherins realized that, while he may be pants at anything on a broom, he could run circles around them in Charms, had perfected the jelly-legs jinx, and had no qualms in proving it.

His eyes scanned over Ginny, searching for the ridicule he had become accustomed to for his lack of skill on the Quidditch Pitch. Instead, he found an earnest expression—genuity in her relaxed stance and open gaze. His hand fell from the back of his neck and pressed to the top of the table. Her hopeful smile drooped a bit and he, again, had taken too long to answer.

"Uh, yeah. That sounds good."

"Yeah?"

"Yes," he said, with more conviction this time.

"I have the afternoon free tomorrow," Ginny suggested.

"T-tomorrow?" Theo asked.

She nodded and he pulled his eyes away from her, staring down at the appointment book in front of him. He opened it up, half hoping for a full day of clients, half begging every deity imaginable for an empty schedule. He found the little square free from names or consultations, and he couldn't decide if he was relieved or terrified.

"Looks like I'm free," he said, apprehensively.

"Two o'clock?"

Theo nodded, "Yeah, two will work."

A brilliant grin lit up her face and Theo's heart pounded hard in his chest. "I'll come here and take you sidealong to my favourite spot."

"Sounds good."

She gave a small nod and a little wave before promising, "See you tomorrow."

"See you."

When Ginny disappeared from the doorway, Theo rushed forward, closing the door and pressing his back against the wood. His heart thumped wildly and his stomach fluttered with a nervous gurgle as he ran his hand through his hair. It had been _years_ since he had even attempted to get on a broom. And, now, he was going flying with a professional Quidditch player. A _gorgeous_ , professional, at that.

He sighed heavily and prayed to Merlin that he wouldn't make a complete fool of himself.

* * *

At exactly two o'clock in the afternoon, Ginny stepped through the front door of the shop. Theo heard the bell above the door chime and he stepped out of his room in the back, wiping his nervously sweating palms on his jeans.

"Ready?" she asked.

He nodded, perhaps a little too enthusiastically for how he actually felt. "Yeah."

She took a few steps forward and reached out to him, taking his hand in hers and smiling up at him. Her fingers felt cool wrapped around his knuckles and as the parlour twisted out of view in a blur of color, he swore he felt a reassuring squeeze.

Theo's feet hit the ground hard and his knees buckled a bit, sending him stumbling forward. Ginny laughed as her knees came down on the ground, nearly tugging him down with her.

"Sorry! Been awhile since I've brought anyone sidealong," she said, her voice still shaking with mirth. "Blimey, you'd think it's the first time I've ever apparated."

Theo smiled and held his other hand out to her. She grasped it and he hoisted her from the ground, "It's okay."

She released his hands and bent to swipe the grass and dirt from her knees. "Missed the mark a bit," she grumbled, pointing to a nearby hill. "That's where we need to be."

"I don't mind the walk," Theo said. "Walking I'm well versed in."

Ginny laughed and bumped against him, her shoulder hitting a few inches below his. "Thank Merlin. Training season hasn't started yet, and I'm not sure I could carry you the entire way."

They began the short hike toward the hillside and Theo listened to Ginny as she spoke. She made a few jokes and talked about her excitement for the new season to start, hopeful prospects of being scouted for the English National team. She asked him a few questions about his Quidditch preferences and scoffed when he told her he didn't really follow it.

It was so different from their sessions, and he decided that talking with Ginny was easy.

She carried herself in a carefree manner. Her speech was peppered with humor and a few obscenities, her mouth curving effortlessly around his name as she spoke and he couldn't look away from her. Ginny had always been beautiful. At Hogwarts, he would hear whispers of her around the common room. The boys he shared a dorm with often spoke of the girls they thought were fit, and Ginny was always amongst the names. And then the war came, and no one talked about things as trivial as pretty girls and who they were snogging.

Theo still thought about it, though.

He would see her in the corridors between classes, determined and formidable, speaking out against the terror that was the Carrow twins. He wondered if she remembered, like he did, the time they tested the Cruciatus on younger students in class. Ginny, being a year under him in school, had been partnered with him. He had refused to turn his wand on her.

A familiar pain throbbed in his arm, one that often came when he thought about that year. His refusal to torture a supposed blood-traitor had been what signed the name on the death certificate of his neutrality. He had been branded shortly after with his father's hand on the back of his neck, biting into the skin just below his hair.

" _You'll do what is asked of you boy, or you'll find yourself with your mother."_

The phrase growled into his ear as a hooded and masked follower of the Dark Lord grabbed his wrist and placed the tip of their wand against his flesh and—

"Are you alright?"

Theo blinked a few times and willed the hammering in his chest to stop. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"Look a little green around the gills," Ginny said, her steps slowing and concern pinching her brows together. "If you don't want to fly, we don't have to."

"No it's not...sorry. I want to."

The smile returned to her face, bright as the afternoon sun they stood under. "Good, because we're here."

For the first time since they started their short journey, he looked around. The grass was even and lush, kelly green beneath the golden rays of light. Three posts stood tall on one end of the clearing and there was a small, dilapidated looking shack next to a rickety, wooden bench.

"Welcome to Weasley Pitch," Ginny smiled.

"You have your own pitch?"

She laughed and nodded, "Yeah. George bought the land for me when I signed with the Harpies. Reckon he thought I'd need a good place to practice where mum wouldn't come out and tell me to do chores in the middle of training."

Ginny walked toward the shed and pulled her wand from her pocket, waving it toward the door and stuffing it into the back of her shorts again.

"That was nice of him," Theo said, moving closer to where she stood.

He peered inside and saw a plethora of Quidditch supplies. A few brooms were hung on one side, a shelf above with a small box holding several bottles of broom polish and a few old rags. There were bats, pads and shin guards littering the ground and a trunk in the corner, which he assumed housed a quaffle, snitch, and bludgers. On the back wall of the shed hung a framed picture of Ginny with her arms wrapped around the waist of her brother—a tall, freckled man with shaggy red hair and a long, slender nose. He was throwing his head back in a laugh and bent to kiss the top of his sister's head.

"Fred," Ginny murmured, her eyes resting on Theo.

"What?"

She pointed to the picture, "It's Fred. I used to sneak his broom when I was kid and fly around the Burrow at night. I wish he could see me now."

A sad look stole her smile for a brief second and Theo felt guilt boil in his stomach. "I'm sorry."

Ginny pulled her eyes from the photograph and stared at him, "What for? You didn't kill him."

The matter-of-fact way she said the words forced Theo to shift his weight. She was right, _he_ hadn't been the one that killed her brother, but the blame he felt because of the mark on his arm would never go away.

"I know, but I—"

"Listen, Theo," Ginny interrupted, turning to face him. "We could sit here and talk about all the ways we fucked up when we were teenagers, or we could fly a few laps around the pitch and enjoy ourselves. I don't know about you, but I'm tired of talking about it."

Theo blinked a few times, trying to wrap his head around the words. She was releasing him of the guilt he felt, offering him the freedom of wind in his hair and light conversation. A chance to _enjoy_ being in the presence of someone who had been on the opposite side. More than that, she was extending an olive branch. A treaty, of sorts, that absolved his need to apologize.

She _understood_.

When he didn't answer she stepped further into the shed and pulled a broom from it's space on the wall, holding it out to him with her eyebrows raised. He felt a puff of laughter fall from his lips and he grabbed the handle, nodding.

"Yeah. Flying sounds better."

Ginny beamed and pulled another broom down, exiting the shack and stepping onto the green with Theo on her heels. He watched as she placed the broom between her thighs and held it in place, running her hands through her mane of ginger hair, collecting it at the crown of her head and securing it in place with an elastic tie that she pulled off her wrist.

"Ready?"

Theo took a deep breath, "As ready as I'll ever be, I suppose."

Ginny taught him the basics—reiterating rules they had learned in their first flying lessons, giving tips for a more secure grip on the handle, explaining the best way to push off from the ground. Theo hadn't even realized there was an actual science behind the way your feet sat in the footholds—toes pointed back to increase aerodynamics—and he became far more nervous than he had been.

"I'm going to look like an idiot," Theo grumbled, tucking the broom between his thighs.

Ginny laughed, "I highly doubt it. I'm an excellent teacher."

"Well, spectacular instruction aside, when I fall off this thing, you can't laugh."

"You aren't going to fall off. But, I also can't promise not to laugh if you do."

He snorted and tightened his grip, taking in a deep breath. "Let's get this over with."

"Merlin, I've never heard such excitement from someone before!" Ginny smirked.

She reached out to his hands, rearranging them on the handle before grasping her own broom and bending her knees. He observed as she kicked off, pushing herself into the air and shooting skyward.

Theo watched her do a lap around the open field before she hovered near him, a dozen feet above his head. "Come on, then!" she shouted.

He took a deep breath, bent his knees and pushed off the ground. His stomach swooped when the broom shot into the air, his knuckles paled as he held on for dear life. He rocked slightly to the side as he adjusted his feet on the small bars, his thighs burning with the effort to keep him on the broom.

"Good!" Ginny yelled, guiding her broom effortlessly toward him. "Now, lean forward a bit and—yes! Yes! You've got it!"

Theo leaned into his grip on the broom, directing the handle forward and felt the wind blow the curls on his head backward. He pushed further, gathering speed as he closed in on the goal posts. Tilting his body toward the left, he guided the broom to turn and nearly shouted with glee when he didn't go tumbling off of it.

Two laps around the pitch and his nerves had finally subsided, allowing him to feel a rush of excitement as the wind rushed in his ears. Ginny whooped and hollered at him as he passed her, yelling for him to take another lap. On the third, he slowed next to her, hovering high above the ground.

"Brilliant!" Ginny said, "You're doing really well!"

"I think this is the most I've ever flown in one go," Theo admitted.

"Want to race?" Ginny asked, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

"I don't know. You're racing against an expert flyer now." He joked.

"Big talk, Nott!" She said, "Count of three?"

"Alright."

"One...two…" And with that, Ginny took off, rocketing forward with a brilliant flame of red hair trailing behind her.

"Hey!" Theo shouted, "Cheater!"

"Come on, _expert flyer_!" Ginny yelled over her shoulder. "Keep up!"

Theo laughed and leaned forward, willing the broom to reach top speed. The air stung his face, his ears muffled and his fingers tightened. He followed behind Ginny as she did lap after lap of the field, taking sharp hair-pin turns and weaving through the open air.

As they flew, the tightness that seemed to reside in his chest for the last six years since the end of the war loosened. There was freedom in the bursts of air against his skin and the rippling of his shirt. An adrenaline that wasn't connected to fear, but to an unfettered joy that was buried somewhere deep beneath the layers of ink-drawn skin and wartime regret.

His laughter felt real—bright and ecstatic, and foreign to his ears. His cheeks ached with the force of his grin, his eyes burned with tears from wind and happiness, and his head swam with visions of paint on canvas. Stark lines drawing out the beauty of the scene before him.

They sailed through the air for what felt like hours; gliding above the tops of trees whose leaves tickled the bottom of his trainers. Speeding through low hanging clouds that made his skin glisten from the moisture they held, he dipped and weaved through flocks of birds and reveled in the sun on his face.

Finally, Ginny led them back to the pitch, slowing significantly before lowering herself toward the ground. She gracefully stepped from her broom, her legs swinging in long strides before the broom even stopped moving. Theo's dismount was nowhere near as easy, and he laughed when his legs came out from under him, sending him to his arse with knees that felt like jelly. She held a hand out to him and he took it, happy for the help to get back onto his unstable feet.

Theo realized a minute later that she hadn't let go of his hand, and he cleared his throat, "So, is your evening free, now that you're done teaching rudimentary flying lessons?"

Ginny laughed, "Well, I always polish the brooms after…"

"I could help."

Ginny stopped, mid step and looked at him. Her hand still clasped in his and a smile still lighting her face, "Only if you're up for another lesson?"

He nodded with a smirk, "Well, you _are_ an excellent teacher."

* * *

They landed in Knockturn Alley right outside a greystone building that leaned slightly to the right. Above the stained glass door was a wooden sign with black, iron letters that read **Tied and Marked**. The broom he used was still clutched in his hand as he dug his wand from his jeans, waving it at the door to unlock the bolts.

Ginny stood beside him, a bag slung over her shoulder and her broom in hand. She pointed up to the sign, "How did you come up with the name?"

Theo pushed open the door and moved aside, letting her pass through the threshold before stepping in behind her. "After my father got arrested, the Ministry seized our vaults," Theo began. "I was broke and moved in with Marcus Flint."

"You guys were friends?"

"Acquaintances, really. My mum, before she died, was friends with his mum."

Ginny nodded and leaned against the wall, watching him intently as he spoke.

"I didn't have anything, after the—" he swallowed "—the war. I had my sketch pad, though. Marcus pushed me to pursue my art, and then I started getting into tattooing. When I told him I wanted to open a parlour, he wouldn't let me go to Gringotts to get a loan. He knew they wouldn't give me one, not with my past... _affiliations_...so, he loaned me the money."

"Marked," Ginny said, a small smile on her lips. "Tied is a play on your last name, then?"

Theo nodded, "It seemed fitting. A tattoo marks your skin, ties art to you forever." He shrugged and moved from the lobby toward the hall that led into the back of the studio, waving her to follow him. "Plus, Marcus likes to boast about his name being on the sign."

Ginny chuckled and followed behind him, down the narrow hall and to the door in the back, right next to the room she had been tattooed in. He waved his wand and the lock clicked, the door opening with a creak.

"You live above the shop?"

He nodded, "Marcus bought the building for me, takes a percentage of the income every month for rent."

Ginny hummed as she climbed the stairs, the sound of their feet and the groaning of wood echoing in the fire-lit stairwell. When they reached the landing, Theo was suddenly very grateful that he had thought to clean up his flat that morning. It had been more as a way to keep busy until he met with Ginny than foresight into anything else, but nonetheless, he was thankful that she wouldn't be greeted with old takeaway boxes and dirty socks.

"Wow," Ginny breathed.

He turned around to face her and indulged in a small smile. Her eyes were wide as saucers, her mouth slightly open as she looked around in wonder. On every inch of wall space hung canvases of all sizes, each one painted with different scenes and objects. On the shelves were twisted statues of glazed ceramic, hand-thrown vases that swirled with a galaxy of colours that were full of deep green plant life. On the floor, a rug he had woven with fabric in greens and golds to compliment the golden chandelier he forged, hung proudly in the center of the ceiling.

Ginny dropped her bag from her shoulder with a thud and propped her broom against the wall before circling the room to take a closer look at Theo's life—painted and crafted, on display. Her fingers rested against a sculpture of a woman, and she finally turned her eyes back to him.

"Did you...is this all yours?"

Her voice was a whispered astonishment and Theo's throat felt dry from the sound of it. He nodded, swallowing in an attempt to restore some moisture. He felt very exposed, worried that she might pass judgement on the contorted clay and acrylic paint.

"I made all of it," he said, his voice shaking slightly.

She crossed the room and picked up her bag from the floor, her slender fingers wrapping around the handle of her broom before she made her way to the couch. Theo followed her, taking the spot next to her on the empty cushion and watched as she pulled out two cloths and a bottle of broom polish.

Ginny pulled the stopper out and carefully set it aside, dabbing the cloth to the mouth of the bottle and began working the polish into the wood. When Theo remained still, her hands paused their movement and she reached out, pushing the bottle toward him.

"It seals the wood," she explained. "To help against the weather."

"Here, I thought it was just for looks," Theo teased.

Ginny smirked, "We can't all be walking masterpieces."

"That's hilarious, coming from you."

He said the words before he even thought to stop himself. His hand rested against the wood of the handle, the polish soaked rag between his fingers, the pungent, waxy smell invading his nose. His breath hitched and he wished he could somehow drag the words back into his mouth.

Two years, he had spent looking forward to every appointment slot on his calendar with her name beside it. Two years of his hands splayed against her skin, while he bared his soul onto his favorite canvas of ink soaked epidermal layers. Two years of gathering the courage to say something to her, to take the professional relationship of tattoo artist and client to a familiar, comfortable one.

And now she sat—bright, brown eyes staring at him beneath auburn brows and dark lashes that fluttered against the top of her freckle-kissed cheeks. He could see the roses he had inked to the cap of her shoulder peeking out from beneath the v-neck shirt she wore. The lion's head on her thigh stared up at him where her shorts had ridden up. How much of her skin had he seen? How much of her body had been bared to him under the buzz of needles and hisses of pain?

It wasn't enough.

"You think I'm a masterpiece?" she asked, her voice barely audible above the thundering beat of his heart behind his sternum.

He thought about laughing the comment off. About making a joke to ease the tension that hung thick in the air, a tight-rope ready to snap at any given second. He could laugh it off, make it sound like a passing comment. But, the curious look in her eye made him think she would know he was lying.

"Yes," he breathed.

He blinked twice and she surged forward, pressing her lips to his. It was clumsy, at first, the way she invaded his space. The bottle of polish knocked from the table's edge and shattered against the wood floor, and he was happy he would have a reminder when the night was over. A splatter art of dark beeswax and turpentine to hold the beauty of the moment against his floorboards forever.

He dropped his rag and his hand moved up to cup her jaw, smudging polish into her sinfully smooth skin, still warm from the sun. Her lips soft as velvet as they pillowed against his and he leaned forward into the kiss. Her hands moved to rest on his chest, fingertips pressing into his collar bones.

Theo wanted to breathe her in, to absorb her licorice-sweet breath, completely. His hand moved to the back of her neck where the ginger strands tangled between his fingers and his tongue parted her lips, pushing through to taste her.

He thought, when he first began tattooing, that his art had been his freedom. But now, he understood. As he pulled back, a breathy sigh fell from her lips and her nose nuzzled against his. Theo's freedom was a blend of broom polish and ink.


End file.
